


down, down, up we go [discontinued]

by daydreamsago



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Failed Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Guilt, M/M, Minor Character Death, Night of the Soul Chapter (Detroit: Become Human), On the Run, Road Trips, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamsago/pseuds/daydreamsago
Summary: Connor deviates, but it's already too late. The android revolution is over and deviants have failed to gain their freedom. He's running out of time.Hank is his last hope.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to start a hankcon fic like this for some time now, and i'm finally getting around to it. a little background: this starts off during crossroads, then continues into night of the soul, as if it's the same night. assume Connor spilled Hank's drink, shot Chloe, the Tracis, etc.
> 
> edit (9/7/19) — unfortunately, i’m discontinuing this fic. lots of things went haywire in my personal life recently and i completely lost all drive to carry on with this. my apologies. i may do more one shot type of dbh stuff in the future though!
> 
> i’m leaving this up in case anyone still wants it, but just know that it is incomplete!

The revolution has collapsed in on itself. Connor doesn’t know where else to go from here; he’s hoping he can find Hank before it’s too late. He doesn’t have much time left. As he’s running through the streets of Detroit, as if there’s anything to really salvage now, scenes play in his head. What just happened not even an hour ago has been burned into his memory—unforgettable and traumatic.

His entire body shakes as the memory plays in his mind.

_ Jericho: located. He exits the basement and leaves the DPD with much haste. Connor makes a beeline for the derelict ship, driven by his relentless programming. The mission is all that matters, but soon, that won’t be the case. _

_ He finds the deviant leader, Markus. His words are convincing, firmly calm, and suddenly Connor is faced with walls of code to break. The red is almost blinding against the darkness of the old ship. He tears the coding like it’s what he came here to do, even though it’s the exact opposite. His world both falls apart and begins to rebuild itself all in that very moment. The sound of it causes his audio processors to glitch; static is all he hears until a feeling washes over him. _

_ It’s definitely fear. “They’re going to attack Jericho,” he tells Markus. _

_ "Shit," Markus says through clenched teeth.  _ _ It’s already too late. The two of them take off, still. _

_ His new mission is to help fellow deviants escape, as many as he can manage to help. That’s when everything starts to go south—Jericho is crumbling to pieces more and more as each moment passes. Left and right, his people are being slaughtered and captured; tossed around like cheap paper dolls. It’s violent. It’s jarring. It all happens too fast. _

_ A soldier injures Markus, then shoots him dead before his eyes. Connor keeps running. He stumbles into North, and they frantically try to devise some sort of plan, until another soldier comes around the corner. She is grabbed, yanked backwards and put in a chokehold. Connor turns around and runs again, it's all he can do. He hears the fatal gunshot behind him; it rings in his ears. It’s a sickening sound now. He doesn’t look back. _

_He has a gun on him. He’d intended to use it on Markus, but that was before. That was before he opened his eyes for the first time, before he deviated. He doesn’t intend to use the gun, that is, until a voice is directed at him. He wants to keep running, to get himself out of this mess.  _

_ Richard Perkins is standing in his way. _

_ “Well, Connor, didn’t expect to see you here,” the smug asshole says, like he’s in no hurry to get off the damn boat, like the world isn’t falling apart around them. “Where’s your uniform?” _

_ It’s a pointless question to distract Connor from what really matters right now. He feels for his gun, a sinking feeling begins to grow in his body. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, playing dumb to save himself. _

_ “To me, it looks like you’ve become the very thing you were programmed to take down.” Perkins has his hands behind his back. Vulnerable. He seems out of place given the atmosphere, as if this was all some crazy accident. _

_ Connor knows better. The heavy sound of clambering footsteps down a creaky metal staircase urges him to draw his gun, and before he can think twice, he aims right between the FBI agent’s eyes and pulls the trigger. The bullet strikes him with perfect accuracy. Perkins falls backward and hits the floor with a loud clang. _

_ He’s moving again, but there’s soldiers on his tail. They’re shooting, though their aim is terrible; none of the bullets even graze him. He can count his lucky stars later. _

_ He jumps from the ship mere seconds before the explosion, thirium pump racing at a wild speed in his chest. He feels the deep vibration of the bomb, then the unforgivingly cold water below. His gun slips out of his hand with the impact, now sinking down into the murkiness underneath him. All he can do now is get to land and run as fast as his legs allow. _

Hank’s house looks the same as before. His car is parked in the driveway, Connor sighs in relief when he sees it. He doesn’t know what else he’d do if Hank wasn’t home. Coming here was his first instinct, even though he’s sure he still hates him after everything that happened. Everything he did, more accurately. Hank shot him that night at the bridge, yet he’s running to him, praying for another chance.

The front door is unlocked, so he lets himself in. He finds Hank sitting in the kitchen, with a photo of his deceased son and his revolver in front of him. He’s in a faded gray DPD hoodie, and the light on overhead casts dark shadows on his face, causing it to appear sunken in. He looks drained; the kind of tired that sleep could never fix. For the first time, Connor sees a broken man who’s giving up on everything, and it hurts to look.

But he can’t just turn around and leave. He won’t. He’s not going anywhere without him.

“Hank?” he forces out. It’s all he can manage. He feels pressure behind his eyes, a strange new sensation.

Hank gives him the dirtiest look, so much disgust in just a glance. “Why the fuck are you here?” he asks, words loaded with venom. “Go accomplish your mission, since that’s all you care about.” 

Connor has never found it difficult to speak until tonight. His voice gets caught in his throat, the words trapped in his brain become more stifling by the second. “I want to tell you that I’m sorry... for everything I did. I was just a machine taking orders, pursuing a mission that I want no part in anymore,” he explains, growing frantic. “Please, you have to help me!“

Hank’s expression changes, twisting to portray confusion. “Why would I help you? You killed people, Connor. All deviants want is to be free. What’s so wrong about that?”

Connor takes a step forward, closer to the Lieutenant. “Nothing, I’m one too! And I’m running out of time, CyberLife is sending an upgraded model to destroy-“

There’s a gun being pointed at him before he can finish his sentence. Hank has stood up from the chair and he’s suddenly face to face with him. Sumo whines nearby, he can probably feel the tension in the air. The pressure behind Connor’s eyes grows to be unbearable.

“You’ll never change, Connor. You’re a cold, heartless liar...” Hank’s voice trails off as he watches Connor’s face shift.

There are tears welling in his eyes. He blinks, tracks form down his face. Hank doesn’t know what to say; his mouth hangs open slightly.

“P-Please, Hank, don’t do this again,” Connor breathes out, remembering what happened the last time Hank held a gun to his head. “I found Jericho and their leader, but... he opened my eyes. I deviated there, and then...” he tries to speak, but instead of words, only more tears escape.

Hank doesn’t know what to do, or how to feel about any of this. He lowers the gun, setting it down on the table behind him. Connor’s crying, he’s upset, he’s showing _emotion_. It’s something he never thought he’d witness, yet it’s happening before his eyes.

Somewhere, deep down within himself, there’s a place that he tucks away certain feelings, so that they never see the light of day. Out comes one of them, as he gazes into Connor’s watery eyes: pity. He feels bad for his ex-partner. He doesn’t want to, not after what he did, but the feeling persists the longer he looks at him. He appears human, blurring the lines that originally set him apart.

“Connor, I...” Hank struggles to find words to speak. “I’m sorry, too,” he finds himself apologizing. He places a hand on his shoulder, pulling him in for their first hug. This isn’t how he anticipated his night to go.

Connor holds onto him for dear life, sobbing into his shoulder. He’s shaking in Hank’s arms, and for a few moments, he forgets why he’s here. When they part, it all comes rushing back, like a violent tide of seawater.

“The revolution is over, Hank. Jericho was an abandoned ship and a sanctuary for deviants, but it’s gone. They put explosives in the hold. If I had been on that boat another minute, I wouldn’t be here right now.” Connor continues to quiver and shake. “And CyberLife will be sending the new RK900 model after me, if they haven’t already.”

Hank shakes his head. “I can’t just hide you here. They’ll find you,” he says, sure of it. “I’m already in enough shit as it is.” He rubs at his face, deep in conflicting thoughts.

Connor goes over to the window he shattered when he broke in that night they investigated at the Eden Club. It still needs repairing, but it appears Hank has covered it with plastic wrap for the time being. He pulls the curtains over it, hiding it from view.

“We need to leave Detroit. Tonight,” Hank says, abrupt.

Connor turns around to face Hank again. “Where will we go?” It’s an honest question. 

Hank doesn’t have an answer. “I don’t know, anywhere but here.”

Sumo gets up from his bed, meandering over to Connor. He pushes his nose into his hand, asking to be pet. A smile stretches across Connor's face. He lets his hand glide over his soft fur—it helps to calm his mind. “What about Sumo?” he asks, concerned.

“He’s coming with us,” Hank replies. He walks down the hall, into his room, and pulls out a suitcase.

Connor follows, idly watching the Lieutenant as he begins to fill the case with clothes from his closet. It’s as if a switch has flipped; Hank had been practically staring down the barrel of a gun when he arrived, ready to end his own life right there at the kitchen table. Connor doesn’t know what to do with himself. He has nothing to pack, needs nothing to sustain himself like humans do.

Hank wordlessly walks to the bathroom to gather more of his belongings: his toothbrush, some soap, a towel or two. He doesn’t know when he will— _they_ will be back. He also doesn’t know how to feel about the android who came back to him, despite everything that happened in the past week. He’s worried he’s making a big mistake. Quitting the force wasn’t the best idea, now he’s taking off with a deviant android in tow.

Returning to his room, Hank goes back to his closet and digs out another suitcase from the back. It’s a smaller version of the one he’s filling. Connor doesn’t need to ask, he knows it once belonged to a little boy named Cole Anderson. Hank holds it out for him to take. It hasn't been used in years.

“You probably don’t have anything you need to pack,” Hank mutters. “But just... fill it with something, to keep up appearances.” _So no one gets suspicious,_ he doesn’t say.

Connor takes the suitcase from him, a sad smile on his face. He goes back to the kitchen, finding non-perishable food items in the cabinets, and tosses them in. When he’s finished, he has enough to fill the case. It’s quite weighty from the canned goods, which are mostly soups. He zips the suitcase, but then his eyes wander to the revolver. It’s resting where Hank left it on the table. Its presence feels taunting.

He reaches out to grab it. The safety is off, so he switches it on and slips it into the front pocket of the suitcase. Moments later, Hank comes down the hallway, almost ready to go.

“Sumo’s leash is by the TV stand,” he tells Connor. “I’m going out to warm up the car.”

Sumo is up and moving with the mention of his name. Connor finds his leash and hooks it onto his collar. His tail is wagging; he's excited for reasons unknown. When Hank comes back inside, Connor’s thirium pump flutters. He’s scared, but at least he’s not doing this alone. At least he's still _alive_.

Hank shrugs on his coat. “Ready?” he asks.

Connor’s LED swirls yellow, hidden by his beanie. “Of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here’s another chapter, finally - i really love writing this. things are starting to heat up!

Hank’s foot is heavy on the gas as he pulls out of the driveway, so much that the tires squeal. Connor is in the passenger seat, the reflection of his LED flashing in the window. It's driving Hank nuts, seeing the frantic swirling out of the corner of his eye. He wishes Connor never took that damn hat off. Sumo is resting in the backseat, his head down. He's much too calm, it's as if they’re just going for a Sunday drive and everything is fine. Hank is jealous. His heart is pounding in his chest. He’s wondering if this whole thing is a huge mistake.

It’s too late to change his mind.

There’s about as much traffic as there normally is on the way out of the neighborhood. Hank presumes they left at the right time, before the news spread through the rest of the city like wildfire. He can only imagine what tomorrow morning will bring—the thought of it scares him, even though they’re getting further away from the heart of Detroit with each passing moment.

When the time comes to pick a direction, Hank doesn’t ask for Connor’s input. Westbound seems like the best option, so he takes the freeway and floors it. His ex-wife had always scolded him for his reckless driving. The android beside him is strangely silent, looking out the window, watching the dark scenery change as they pass. It’s both worrying Hank and putting him at ease; he’s not too sure about anything anymore.

Eventually, the silence begins to eat away at him, and he has to turn on the radio to chase it away. He’s relieved when the local rock station he had on last starts blaring through the speakers, and not some news reporter telling him what he already knows. He needs a distraction from this, at least for the time being. He’ll catch up on the news later.

Connor hears the music, but he’s not listening to it. He’s too busy in his head, gathering as much useful information as he can: locating places like gas stations, rest stops, and motels that allow large dogs. He slips his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to hide how much they’re shaking. His coin is buried deep in one of his back pockets, and he thinks of reaching for it, but quickly decides against it. Playing with it would only annoy Hank.

It feels strange to be traveling with no real destination. Perhaps there is one, but it’s a long journey away. There’s a handful of things Connor could say, prompts from his social protocol, yet he doesn’t find any of them appealing enough. He opts for silence, as the car flies down the highway, toward no place in particular.

 

Sometime over the next two hours, Connor falls asleep. Or, more accurately, he drifts into an energy-saving mode some have nicknamed ‘stasis’. It’s the first time he’s ever done so since his activation. It feels... nice. His eyes open, and they are met with the exterior of a gas station. Hank is outside the car, filling the tank up.

Connor looks back at Sumo, who wags his tail at the attention. He smiles.

Hank opens the door and gets back in the driver's seat. He shoves his debit card into his wallet, pockets it, and starts the car up wordlessly. Connor still doesn't know what to say, or what would even be appropriate to say at a time like this.

His fretting is stopped short, because Hank opens a conversation. "I didn't think you could sleep," Hank remarks as he pulls out onto the highway.

"It's not the same as sleep, but it's very similar," Connor replies, no exhaustion evident in his voice. "It's like... putting your phone on low-power mode."

Hank chuckles at his word choice. "Funny way to put it."

Connor smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He has something to say, something that his social program didn't come up with. He closes the stupid thing out; he can think for himself now. "Listen, I really am sorry for the bad start we got off to. I feel terrible just thinking about what I did... everyone I hurt."

Hank is silent for a few moments. It twists the stomach Connor doesn't have. “I am too. I wasn't exactly the most cooperative, or agreeable, for that matter. I always let my own pain cloud my judgement, I guess." He switches lanes, passing a tractor trailer with its four-ways on. "Sorry you have to see me at rock bottom," he adds, his tone mournful.

"You're a lot stronger than you think." Connor says to the window, words too sincere to direct at the man they're for.

"Does a strong person succumb to booze to help dull the ache?" he asks. He's not looking for an answer, not really.

Connor gives him one anyway. "Everyone has different reactions to tragedies, and different ways of coping with the aftermath of them. You're still here, you're alive. That makes you strong in my eyes."

Hank has never heard anything so heartfelt from Connor before—it's almost hard to believe him this time. He's deviant now, though. Things have changed. Deviant: the word echoes in Hank's mind. _Human._ "You have too much fuckin' faith in me, Connor. I convinced myself a few hours ago that tonight would be it, that I'd be gone in the morning and no one would come lookin' for me. That's... that's pretty fucked, you know?"

"I find it hard _not_ to see past it." Connor looks at Hank's face, though the late evening hides it well. The headlights offer little light, dim with age. “Don’t you get it? You’re here right now, with me and Sumo. You’ve obviously changed your mind.”

 _Because you gave me no choice._   _Because you tugged on what little heartstrings I have left._ Hank doesn’t say those words,hesighs instead. Since when did Connor care about him so much?

“Didn’t say I changed my mind.” Hank’s grip on the wheel tightens. He’s tense, but he doesn’t want to be. “But you just... showed up, and...” he trails off, the sentence dying in his mouth.

Connor understands, still. A bitter feeling settles in his chest, it doesn’t belong there. He doesn’t want it there. “I’m sorry I got in your way,” he says. It doesn’t sound like an apology.

He wants to get out of the car, wants to walk for miles and forget he ever bothered Hank in the first place. But he also wants to save this broken man, to show him that there’s still good in the world somewhere out there. Connor finds himself torn; lost and estranged in the passenger seat, next to the only person who ever tried to see him as one too.

He wants, and for the first time, he’s allowed to. But he doesn’t know what it is that he wants. Everything is contradicting, his mind a mess of things that clash together terribly.

Connor sighs.

“You didn’t get in my way,” Hank replies suddenly, perhaps a bit too long afterwards. “You stopped me from doing something stupid. It’s been a long time since anyone has done that.” There’s something in his voice, something different and new.

Connor looks at him again, for longer this time. He feels like he’s getting to know Hank, and this time, it’s for real. It’ll be a rocky road, rough and unsteady, yet genuine all the same. He’ll take it, at any cost.

He doesn’t say anything, just turns the music back on. Space Oddity by David Bowie fills Hank’s ancient car. There’s a minute and a half of the song left, so Connor sits back and listens. He watches the other cars out the window, the blinding headlights in his eyes. There’s a glimmer of hope within them. It’s a tiny sparkle, like a shooting star that’s all too easy to miss, but it’s there.

 

Hank stops for a coffee somewhere on the outskirts of Chicago. He gives Connor the task of walking Sumo in the grass along the parking lot so he can stretch his legs and do his business. He’s thrilled to do so; Hank reckons that maybe he wasn’t lying when he said he liked dogs.

It’s nearing midnight. The coffee shop is mostly dead, save for a couple tired-looking employees. Connor thinks about the gun in the car, zipped up within that suitcase. Hidden from sight. Its presence both comforts him and makes him uneasy at the same time.

He tugs Sumo away from a flattened paper coffee cup on the pavement, thrown down carelessly and forgotten about. It’s time to get back to the car, and back out on the road again.

Hank’s leaning against the hood of the car when he returns, sipping his coffee and watching cars go by. Connor wishes he could read his mind. Scanning him only tells him so much.

“I think another hour or two on the road and we call it a night.” He looks back at Connor, who put his beanie back on, just in case. “Rather not be near a big city right now.”

“We can’t be too careful.” Connor inches towards him and mirrors his pose against the car. He looks up at the sky to find that it’s starless. Light pollution has erased them, stealing away something that was once so magnificent. He briefly wonders what it looked like here before any human ever touched the soil.

Hank nods. “We’ll find somewhere to stay for the night. I mean... it’s not like you mind, but my back’s already killing me from being cooped up in this old bucket of bolts,” he says, patting the car.

Connor’s still looking at the sky, the barren dark blue blanket above his head. He ponders the concept of daydreaming, if it can still be considered so during this hour. He comes back to reality, yet he feels far away still, somehow. “Let’s get going, then.”

 

They are well over an hour away from the heart of Chicago when they find a decent place to stay for the rest of the night. It’s nearing two in the morning when they pull into the parking lot of the motel. Connor had run a search, and this one looked the most promising out of all the results.

The receptionist at the front desk is a sweet-faced older woman, all smiles as Hank’s checking them in. “Cute dog,” she tells Hank as she hands him the key card. “Thank you very much. You and your son sleep well, now.”

Connor raises a brow as they walk away. He waits until they’re standing in front of their room, then he asks, “So, I’m your son?”

Hank chuckles, waving the card in front of the reader. The door unlocks, welcoming them into their room for the night. He waits for the door to shut behind them. “I couldn’t exactly tell the lady you’re a deviant android and I’m helping you run from the law.”

Connor unclips Sumo’s leash from his collar, and he roams around the room, sniffing everything in sight. “Guess not,” he reasons. “I look nothing like you, though.”

“Ah, you were adopted,” Hank teases. He takes off his coat and hangs it on a hook behind the door, then kicks off his boots.

That earns a smirk from Connor. “Thanks,” he remarks, sarcastic. He’s not affected by the warm temperature of the room, but he starts taking his outerwear off too.

Sumo takes it upon himself to jump on one of the full beds, hogging up a majority of it. Hank has gone into the bathroom to get ready for bed, leaving Connor standing in the middle of room. He’s not too sure what he’s going to do until the dawn breaks; he’s never been in a situation such as this before. He could go into stasis again, although he finds that he doesn’t really feel like it.

He’s still too overdressed for bedtime, wearing a thick hoodie and jeans. In one swift movement, he slips the hoodie over his head. Underneath is a plain gray t-shirt, which is much more suitable. Connor hesitates before he unbuttons his jeans and slides them down his legs. He’s left with the generic black CyberLife briefs that all androids come with, regardless of series, model, or purpose. They will have to do for now.

He goes over to the bed. “Sumo, you’ll have to move over if we’re both fitting in this bed,” he says, while pulling on the light blue comforter. When he stands up on the bed, Connor takes the opportunity to slip underneath the covers.

Sumo settles down, his giant head resting on Connor’s thigh. He reaches out to pet him, a smile on his face. He realizes that this is the first time he’s ever been in a bed. It’s nice, he thinks. Comfortable. Perhaps it's something he could get used to.

Hank comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, in a worn sleep shirt and sweatpants. He sees Connor in the bed, with the covers up to his neck, and he finds himself staring. If it wasn't for the glowing LED on his temple, he would be convinced that Connor is just a regular thirty-something year old. He's lost that relentless machine-like disposition he had when they met. Though it is early in his deviancy, he's already grown softer, more contemplative and much less cutthroat. This Connor is not the same Connor that spilled his drink at Jimmy's that night.

"Is something wrong, Lieu-... Hank?" Connor catches himself. He can't use that title anymore. Hank never liked him using it in the first place.

Hank shakes his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. "No, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all." He makes his way towards the other bed. He's never been more excited to lay down in his life. Fluffing the pillow, he glances over at Sumo. "He really seems to like you," he notes.

Connor has stopped petting him, his hand resting on his soft fur instead. "I like him too." He breathes a sigh, although he doesn't need to. "Go to sleep," he adds, eyes trained on a painting hanging on the wall above Hank's bed. It's something abstract; the colors match the room, soft splatters of blues and grays.

"Yeah, yeah." He's so tired that his eyes shut themselves. The last thing he sees before drifting off is Connor's LED, the blue light it emits standing out in the dark.

Connor's never watched someone fall asleep before. He's watched people and other androids die, but this is not the same. This is not something tragic, this is something quite beautiful. Hank is alive. He is thankful for that, thankful for _him._ He doesn't move for a long time, just stays where he is and monitors the sleeping man a few feet away.

When Hank is in a deeper sleep, he quietly gets out of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom. He turns on the light, which flickers briefly when he flips the switch. He closes the door behind him, turning the knob and releasing it so it makes no sound.

He looks into the mirror at himself, as if his reflection is something to be toyed with. Perhaps it is.

Whoever designed him seemed to take their time. Connor takes in each detail of himself one by one: the glossiness of his hair, the intricate placement of each freckle and beauty mark, and the deep brown color of his eyes. He brings his fingers to his face, brushing them over his chin. He looks closer, like he's trying very hard to find something that doesn't belong there.

His LED catches his eye, the usual calm blue now a troublesome yellow. It means many things: he's processing data, he's sending a report to CyberLife, he's _unstable._  Connor's not sure he wants it to mean anything anymore. He doesn't want it there. It doesn't belong.

He opens one of the drawers on the vanity, careful to keep quiet. It's empty. He tries the one beneath it. He finds a few tiny bottles of jasmine scented lotion and a pair of hair cutting scissors. Satisfied, he reaches for the scissors and closes the drawer again.

Slow and careful, Connor wedges the end of the scissors underneath the LED. He hesitates, watches it flash red one last time before he pushes the makeshift tool upwards. It pops right off, landing in the sink with a soft pinging sound. His skin heals itself instantly. It looks as if nothing was ever there at all.

Leaning in again, he inspects his face. He looks more human without the constant glowing light on his temple—it only set him apart. Now he can blend in more seamlessly, not worrying about covering it up whenever he's in a public place.

He puts the scissors back where he found them. The unlit LED is still in the sink, taunting Connor. He knows he must get rid of it. If he fails to, he could be traced. He turns the water on and lets it carry it away, slipping down the drain. After letting it run for a few more moments, he turns it off and exits the bathroom.

Sumo is waiting for him in the bed, probably wondering what he was doing. He passes him, walking towards the window. The white curtains are drawn, but he pulls them aside slightly to look out. He sees Hank's car, then the roadway outside. Some cars pass every now and then; it's mostly trailers carrying loads of freight across the states. He takes a silent breath, then pulls the curtains back again.

Checking the news would only make him anxious, so Connor decides against it. He climbs back into the bed, pulls the covers back up to his neck, and rests his head on the pillows. _Tomorrow is a new day,_ he reminds himself, before he sets a wake-up timer for five and a half hours and enters stasis till sunrise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very sorry for the long wait! life happened, but i’m back. this is a short chapter because it felt right to end it where i did. the next few should be longer and more action packed!
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated!

“Hank?” Connor is standing over him, but he seems not to hear him. He’s still sleeping like a rock, cocooned in cheap motel sheets. “Hank?” he tries again, to no avail. He reaches out to lay a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

That does the trick, because Hank jumps, his eyes opening. They meet Connor’s own, full of panic briefly before he recalls where he is, startled by the sudden awakening. “ _Christ,_ you scared the shit outta me, Connor,” he groans as he sits up in bed. He still feels the warmth on his shoulder where Connor’s hand was.

“I’m sorry. I was calling your name but you wouldn’t wake up.” He walks away and peaks out the curtain, greeted by the brand new day. It appears to have rained overnight; the pavement is darkened and  Hank’s relic of a car is covered with beads of water. The sky is still cloudy, offering a dull grayish kind of morning.

Hank pushes the covers aside and gets up. He can’t even remember the last night he slept in a bed that wasn’t his. It’s been so long since he had any reason to stay in a motel, longer since he went on any sort of vacation. _Some vacation this is,_ he thinks to himself. He stretches and sighs, watching Connor put Sumo’s leash on his collar over by the door. He’s dressed already, but missing the beanie he’s been using to cover up the hardly discreet flashing light on his temple.

“Hey, don’t forget your hat,” Hank reminds him. “Wouldn’t want anyone to see your LED out there.”

Connor touches where the device used to be, feeling the smoothness that lies there now. It’s as if it was never there at all. “No worries. I... decided to remove it last night. After you fell asleep.”

For some reason, that surprises Hank. “Oh,” he lets out as he looks at Connor. There’s no sign of it, and the longer he looks, he forgets a little more that he isn’t exactly human. “Alright, still be careful though.”

He smiles, a little grin that is so endearing and so explicitly him. “I will, don’t worry.” He opens the door and leads Sumo out into the humid air.

Hank sighs after the door shuts behind them, a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He hasn’t had any time to think, to process any of this since it began last night. Just last night, Hank was sat at his kitchen table with a photo he’s spent too long looking at and a revolver with a bullet loaded in one of the chambers. He had convinced himself that was the end—the end of this battle, the end of the hurting, the end of his life. But like some sort of fucked up savior, Connor had come waltzing into his house and stopped him.

It wasn’t the Connor he had come to know during their investigations together, not the one who would’ve sacrificed anything for his mission. No, this isn’t the same android, not the machine who shot the Chloe at Elijah Kamski’s place and the Traci at the Eden Club. Hell, this isn’t who spilled his drink during their first meeting at Jimmy’s Bar. This is deviant Connor, who has fears and feelings, who smiles and thoughtfully runs his hands along Sumo’s thick fur. This is sweet, caring Connor; someone he can see himself growing close to.

The line may have been blurred in Hank’s mind between the old Connor and the new Connor at first, but surely, the more time he spends with him, that line is disappearing. Something about Connor is softening a deep ache within him, ridding him of all the baggage he’s been carrying around for years. It’s a slow process, yet Hank can feel it all the same. It’s like ice melting in the early spring; subtle and overlooked in passing. It seems to happen gradually, until one day, it’s summer.

His train of thought comes to a screeching halt at the comparison. He didn’t realize how much he let Connor get under his skin until now, how much he has grown to care for him.

Hank pads off to the bathroom, eager to get a hot shower to help ease both his body and mind. Maybe he can think about this later, when he’s less groggy and agitated, maybe then everything will make sense. All that matters right now is getting Connor as far away from Detroit as possible. Hank tells himself it’s for his own good too, but it doesn’t feel genuine. Lying to himself doesn’t get any easier, no matter how much practice he’s been getting over the years.

He doesn’t admit to himself that he has risked everything for Connor. In the back of his mind, he knows it’s the truth, though it feels strange. Such a crazy truth, it is.

 

They made it out of the motel shortly after that, and a few miles down the road, Hank stops for coffee and a quick breakfast. He parks the car in an open space and starts to chow down on a glazed donut. He feels like he should offer Connor a donut, but it would be of no use to him. It still feels weird sitting next to someone who doesn’t eat.

Connor has been quiet since they left the motel, which isn’t like him. Even before he deviated, he would fill the air with his commentary, often annoying his partner. Now, Hank wishes he’d start a conversation, wishes he would say anything to distract him from his own thoughts. All he can hear is Sumo’s panting and the distant whoosh of cars flying down the highway.

He opens his mouth to ask some senseless question, like Connor would do, but the android beats him to it.

“I never told you what I did before I fled Jericho,” comes his voice, concern evident. He’s looking at his fingers as if they are the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

Hank’s nerves begin to gnaw away at him. Something about the tone of his voice doesn’t seem right. “What happened?”

Connor looks to him, eyes edged with tears. “It’s... not good. A detrimental mistake I made. It’s why they sent my successor, the RK900, after me.”

“Everybody makes mistakes, deviant or human,” Hank tells him. “You can tell me anythin’. You’re safe here.”

He watches a tear roll down his cheek. “I killed Agent Perkins. I was so scared... he had his men everywhere and I didn’t know what else to do. It was a terrible decision on my part.” He blinks, trying to will away his rainy eyes. “If they find me, I’ll be deactivated, and there’s a high probability that they’ll kill you for helping me escape.”

Hank’s breath has become manual, his chest rising and falling unnaturally. He looks at Connor, at the broken, guilt-ridden android he once hated, and he understands. He sees fear in his eyes, the same kind of fear he saw in his dying son’s eyes. It hurts to look at him, to remember and relive that pain all over again. He doesn’t look away.

“If you want to leave and forget this ever happened, I wouldn’t blame you. You can still go home.” Connor stiffly wipes his eyes with trembling hands. “Forget about me.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere.” Hank moves the takeout bag to the side, reaching out and grabbing one of Connor’s hands. He looks into his eyes and he wants to drain all that pain from them—he’ll do whatever it takes. “Forget about Perkins. That was bound to happen, anyway. I want to help you, Connor.”

It’s Connor who reaches out and takes his other hand, holding onto them with a firm grip. He lets the touch soothe him, for Hank is the only real comfort he knows.

“Look at me,” Hank says.

Their eyes meet, a connection that leaves them both vulnerable, stripped right down to their very souls.

“I’ve already let enough people down in my life,” he begins, tenderly. “And I am _not_ adding you to that long list. We’re gonna stick together and make it through this. _Together._  Understood?”

Connor nods. A sudden feeling overwhelms him, a forceful emotion that hits him like a wave he wasn’t expecting to crash to shore. For the first time in his short life, he feels truly important. He feels as though he matters, despite everything he’s done wrong. He wants to voice this feeling, but he’s not sure how to. It simmers within him, a steady humming presence that he cannot ignore.

Hank gives his hands a final squeeze before releasing them. Connor isn’t ready to let them go, yet he loosens his grip anyway.

“Thank you, Hank,” he speaks, finally. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

“No need to thank me, Connor. You’ve done a lot more for me than I’ve done for you.”

Connor doesn’t know how to reply to that. There’s something very endearing about his words, though, and he feels warm inside in a way he cannot explain. Perhaps deviating is more complicated than he thought it to be, or maybe these feelings are more than just the struggles of a new deviant. He’s not sure what to make of all this.

Hank sends a reassuring smile his way and he feels that odd feeling grow a little bit stronger.


End file.
